Addicted (4 page)

"God, that's
good!" I gasped, clutching tufts of his black hair as his tongue
swept over my pulsating clitoris. "I'm going to come already!"

"You taste
good," he breathed, lapping the pink flesh around my open hole as
he fingered me. "Mmm, very good!"

"My clitoris!
Please, my clitoris!"

Sucking my
pleasure bud into his mouth again, his tongue sweeping over its
sensitive tip, I pulled his head closer, grinding the open centre
of my femininity into his mouth as my orgasm stirred within my
contracting womb. His fingers thrusting into my tightening vagina,
my orgasm came, gripping me, the beautiful shockwaves shaking me
violently.

On and on the
waves of pure sexual ecstasy rolled through my sated body, lifting
me ever-higher to my sexual heaven. My juices pouring in torrents
from my pussy as Tony slipped his fingers out of my spasming
vagina, my clitoris throbbing, I lifted my hips and opened my legs
as wide as I could, allowing him to drink from me, to suck out my
pleasure.

My body
quivering as the ripples of sex began to recede, I finally lay
still, fulfilled in my coming - serene. Tony sat by my side, his
hand between my parted thighs, his fingers massaging my clitoris,
bringing out my milk. I didn't want him to go away again; I didn't
want to be without him, without his sperm. Addicted to sperm.

After a
shower, I wandered into the studio and unveiled the Blue Lady. Tony
was relaxing in the garden and I was feeling great, better than
ever. The time had come to finish the painting, to put brush to
canvas and give the Blue Lady life.

After three
hours, I stood back and adjudicated my work. As always, I wasn't
satisfied, but I knew that Stephen Giles would be pleased. What
would Tony say? I wondered as he walked into the studio and stood
by my side.

"That's
great!" he beamed, gazing at the canvas. "Old man Giles will be
delighted! He just rang, by the way."

"I didn't hear
the phone." Tony looked worried. A bearer of bad news.

"He called me
on my mobile. Helen, I'm afraid I'm off to Paris again."

"But you've
only just come back!" I returned.

"Yes, I know.
I... I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

"I suppose a
week isn't long," I sighed. A week without sperm.

"I'm going for
a month."

My stomach
sank. A month without Tony - a month without sperm! I'd never
survive! I knew that I should tell him, but how could I bring
myself to admit that I was addicted to the stuff? I couldn't tell
him. I'd masturbate him before he left the following morning, suck
him to orgasm and have a glass handy to store the drug. Drug? That
was the cold reality of my predicament - to me, sperm was a drug.
Drug addiction. Sperm-abuse.

I did
masturbate Tony before he left the next morning. I sucked him to
orgasm and discreetly dribbled his sperm into a glass as he lay
panting after his climax. Hiding the glass of precious white liquid
beneath the bed, I sighed. One shot, one fix - but what would I do
when it had gone? A week had been bad enough; I'd never last for a
month without sperm!

Tony left in
the taxi, an all too familiar event that I was coming to despise.
But he was doing well, in line for promotion which would almost
double his salary. I couldn't destroy his chances, his career! I'd
just have to muddle through as best I could. Maybe the sperm would
last? If I only needed a drop to calm me, maybe it would last. It
had to!

After a few
days, the familiar sensations of panic gripped me, like a monster,
welling up from the deep, grabbing me and pulling me under. Taking
the glass from the fridge, I dipped my finger into the cold liquid
and placed a drop on the tip of my tongue. To my dismay, I had to
swallow the lot to calm myself. That was that, my supply gone in
one gulp!

The calming
effect only lasted for two days. My palms wet, my chest tight, my
craving was becoming worse and I didn't know what to do. There was
no point in ringing Doctor Harvey; he couldn't supply me with
sperm. But I had to do something! Deciding to take a walk, I left
the house and wandered down the lane.

The hot summer
sun on my back, the birds singing, I sat on the common watching
people walking their dogs and pushing prams. People doing nothing,
going nowhere. Where was anyone going? Where was I going? Down
hill, fast! My work suffering, my head spinning, my craving worse
than ever, I clasped my hands together to stop them trembling,
wondering again at my incredible addiction. Why not nicotine or
alcohol? Why sperm, the only thing I couldn't get?

Sitting on the
soft grass, my vision beginning to blur, I was desperate for a fix.
A druggy, a junkie. The thought horrified me. Watching a lad of
around eighteen walking towards me, I came to a crazy,
panic-inspired decision. I'd seduce him, suck his penis into my
thirsty mouth and swallow his sperm. What the hell was I thinking
of? I suddenly wondered, eyeing his bulging trousers as he
approached. Adultery? God, no!

But no one
would ever know, I told myself as my state of panic rose to
frightening heights. Tony would never discover the awful truth, it
would be my secret - kept in a little box somewhere deep in the
dark depths of my subconscious. Secrets weigh heavy on the
mind.

"Hi!" I
called, wishing I hadn't as the young man walked past me.

"Oh, hi," he
smiled, stopping and turning to face me. He was probably trying to
place me, wondering where he knew me from.

"Why don't you
join me?" I asked, moving behind some bushes and settling on the
grass. Subtle in my subtleness!

"Er... yes,
OK."

Sitting beside
me, he looked puzzled. I doubted that many women were as blatant as
I'd been! No chat up lines, no discreet come on... My mind swirled
with images of Tony, his name reverberating through my spinning
head. Trying to focus on the young man, my vision became blurred in
the extreme. I had no choice, I desperately needed sperm! I had to
commit adultery.

"What's your
name?" I asked, pushing him back on the grass and fumbling to pull
his zip down.

"Er... Geoff,"
he replied, resting on his elbows and gazing in disbelief at my
hand tugging at his trousers.

"It's your
lucky day, Geoff. Would you like me to make you come?" I asked
stupidly, my face flushing with embarrassment as I slipped my hand
into his trousers and clutched his warm flaccid penis.

Reclining on
the grass, he didn't answer. He must have thought me a
nymphomaniac, a tart, but I'd reached such a state of panic I'd
have done anything in return for a fix. His penis grew in my hand
as I pulled it out of his trousers. Stiff, hard in youth, it wasn't
as big as Tony's - but it was a penis with a supply of sperm.

Shame and
guilt suddenly engulfing me, I had a change of mind and released
his penis. I couldn't do it, I couldn't commit adultery, destroy my
marriage. He looked up at me, puzzlement reflected in his dark eyes
as I licked my dry lips. I was so near and yet so far. Quivering,
my breathing shallow, I knew that I had to push myself over the
threshold, through the barrier of my guilt and embarrassment.

My hand trembling as I reached out and grabbed his penis
again, my heart palpitating, I could barely breathe.
Just this once
, I pledged,
massaging his shaft, moving his foreskin back and forth over his
bulbous plum. Just this once and then... and then what? What would
I do the next time I craved sperm? In a couple of days when the
effect had worn off and I was climbing the walls in my desperate
craving, what would I do? Live for the moment, I decided. Bridges
to be crossed would be crossed when I reached them.

Pulling his
foreskin back and leaning over, I sucked his glans into my thirsty
mouth. Gasping, he clutched my head, thrusting his penis in and out
of my mouth as if it was the first time he'd ever experienced oral
sex. Perhaps it was? I mused as he began to groan.

I could
arrange to see him again, I thought, desperate for him to come. See
him every day and... Tony, poor Tony. What was I doing? I wondered
as the young man gasped and came, his beautiful sperm bathing my
tongue, filling my cheeks. Drinking from his jetting glans,
swallowing hard, I imagined that the calming effect was immediate.
Already, I felt better, although it couldn't have worked that
quickly. Psychological, I mused, swallowing the last of his sperm
as it pumped over my tongue.

Slipping his
penis out of my mouth and licking the droplets of opaque liquid
from his swollen plum, I sat upright, my face burning with
embarrassment. Tugging his zip up, he frowned at me, probably
wondering what sort of woman I was as he leaped to his feet.

"I must be
going," he said, barely looking at me as he wandered off. He seemed
frightened.

"Come again!"
I called, suddenly realizing the ridiculous pun.

It had been
quick, clean, effective. Already, I was beginning to experience
calm, peace, as I reclined on the grass and licked my salty lips. I
thanked God for my fix as my heart slowed and my hands stilled - I
also asked for forgiveness!

The stark
reality of what I'd done suddenly hit me. I'd broken my marriage
vows, been unfaithful, behaved as a common whore. Once was bad
enough, but to suck sperm from the young man's penis every two
days... He'd be back, I knew. But would I? Would I be strong enough
to fight the craving and keep away? Temptation, addiction -
adultery. Sweet was my fix but sour the sacrifice.

But it wasn't
adultery, I reflected stupidly. Adultery. I'd not given my vagina,
opened my vagina to another man's penis. I'd not allowed another
man to fuck me. Fuck, a strange word. I pondered on the word,
wondering where it came from. Fuck. I'd not allowed another man to
fuck me. I'd given my mouth, yes, but not... I was kidding myself,
it was the same! He'd fucked my mouth, come in my mouth. There was
no difference! He'd mouth-fucked me. Had Satan goaded me?

I walked
briskly home, convincing myself that I'd not do it again, that I
wouldn't allow the panic to drive me to behave like that again -
like a whore, a slut, a prostitute. Prostitute. The word haunted
me, battered my mind with its ragged edges. Prostitute. I'd
received payment for what I'd done, I'd received sperm. Money,
goods, sperm... whatever was taken in exchange for sex didn't
matter - I was a prostitute.

At home, I
wandered into my studio, trying to push the degrading act I'd
committed to the back of my mind - to the dark, shadowy corners of
my mind where I kept little boxes full of secrets, dreadful
secrets. There was a blank canvas on my easel, waiting for oils -
dreaming of rolling hills. I wished my mind was blank, clean. What
to paint? I wondered, taking the pallet and squeezing paint from
tubes. White paint - sperm. Taking a brush, I allowed my racked
mind to wander, to drift in an ocean of thought.

I worked for
several hours, not really knowing what I was doing, what I was
painting. I seemed to be in a dream, unconsciously moving brushes
and the pallet knife across the canvas, mixing colours...

Answering the
phone, I was delighted to hear Tony's deep voice. But guilt
suddenly gripped me in its cold steel hand - hurting my mind. "How
are things?" he asked.

"I'm working."
They were the only words I could find.

"What on?"

I turned to
look at the canvass, conscious for the first time what I'd actually
been painting. I was naked, leaning over a young man sprawled out
on the grass, his erect penis in my mouth. Sperm dribbled from my
lips as I fervently sucked on his orgasming glans. His expression
was one of complete and utter satisfaction. His fingers were
embedded deep within my vagina, pussy-wet fingers, clearly visible
between my crudely opened thighs.

"What on?"
Tony asked again.

"Er... I'll
show you when it's finished," I replied, focusing on my pussy lips,
taut around the young man's thrusting fingers. Had Satan guided my
hand?

"Are you OK?"
Tony asked concernedly, suspiciously. "You sound different."

I was
different; I'd broken my marriage vows. Prostitute. "Yes, I'm OK."
Another lie. "And you?"

"I'm missing
you, Helen. I wish we were in bed together."

"Yes, so do
I." I sounded far from convincing! "There's the doorbell, I'd
better go." There was no one at the door, and I think he knew it.
Lies seemed to bubble from my lips with ease now.

"OK, I'll ring
you tomorrow. I love you."

"I... I love
you, too."

Love? How
could I tell him that I loved him when I'd just sucked another man
off, swallowed another man's sperm? Mouth-fucked. What was love? I
knew not the meaning of the word. Love, lust, sex...

Grabbing a
Stanley knife, I was about to slash the canvas, destroy the blatant
portrayal of my wanton adultery. The knife poised above my head, I
couldn't do it. The painting was good, one of the best I'd ever
done - I couldn't destroy it. Besides, destroying the painting
wouldn't destroy the truth. I'd prostituted myself, allowed a
stranger to fuck my mouth.

My thinking
was becoming crude, my vocabulary uncouth. "Fuck," I murmured as I
flopped onto the Chesterfield. I felt dirty. "He fucked my mouth."
Could I ever kiss Tony again? The aura of another man's sperm
glowing around my lips, could I ever lock my mouth to his and kiss
him in love? Mouth-fucked.

Leaping up as
the doorbell rang, I dashed through the hall. "Laura!" I beamed,
discovering my best friend standing on the step. "Come in!"

"Hi, Helen,"
she smiled, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder as she
stepped into the hall. "I thought I'd drop in for coffee and a
chat."

"I'm pleased
you did."